


When we were older

by Zofiecfield



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zofiecfield/pseuds/Zofiecfield
Summary: Waverly and Nicole fill their home with children, a strong and wild brood.
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 15
Kudos: 88





	When we were older

They bore no children, though their bodies ached for that burden, demanding of them a different choice. They bore the heavy sadness of that choice, but could not bear to bring a new child into a world so broken and unkind, a world already so full of need.

The weight of it paralyzed them for a time, indecision and grief for the life they might have had in a different world. But this world, torn and broken though it may have been, had plans for them. 

It called to them and they answered.

Rachel was first. Never their child, but theirs nonetheless. Bound to them in times of desperate loneliness and horror, she stayed long after the bloodshed stopped, long after the nightmares left her. She stayed because they were hers, and a child, no matter how fiercely independent, no matter how capable and strong, needs to belong to someone. Already so adept at caring, she learned, after much resistance and refusal, to be cared for. And, slowly she released the notion of a balance scale of give and take. She gave what she could, and took what she needed, coming to trust their unending supply of love for her. 

Rachel stayed, and became the champion and captain of all those that followed.

Next was Alice. Smart and clever and mercilessly restless. The child roamed with one foot in this world and one in the next, so rarely satisfied, so rarely sated. She did not yet understand the flashes of fear and guilt in her mother's eyes, and it made her itch, constantly searching for what lay beneath. But, in their presence, she moved easily, settled into laps content and asked her endless queries. Alice was only partially theirs, but who can claim any more of a child than that? Aunts and solace and always there. Her mother’s child, she grew loyal and fierce, and stood in the path of all adversity. Schoolyard brawls and passionate tears, resolved and firm in her principles. They kissed her cheeks and held her close when she needed comfort, guided her on her path when the world tugged and shoved.

After the first two, the others began to find them in the oddest of ways. Left behind, forgotten, unwanted, wanted dearly but unable to be kept. Some weren’t quite human, a few barely human at all. But that gave Waverly and Nicole no pause. _Human_ had ceased to be the standard by which they determined goodness or worth.

Waverly found a small girl reading on their porch early one morning, stern and steady, soul of an old woman, having lived such a life already, carried so much weight. "I’m Kate. The whispers told me to come," she said, firm and sure, marking her place carefully and closing the book. She met their eyes, and hers held more years of wisdom than all of theirs combined. "They said you take kids who don’t fit anywhere else." She stood and brushed past them, settling on the floor by the fireplace without another word. She grew to match them, wit for wit, always one step ahead of the world around her. They gave her the solid foundation and she built and built and built.

After the old mill burned down, Nicole pulled an infant from the ashes, covered in soot and screaming in loss and fear. He quieted in her arms and reached a small fist towards her, flames still flickering in his eyes. Never again afraid, he grew up on Waverly's knee, flipping pages of ancient volumes and humming chants she hadn't yet deciphered. Strong and kind and terribly brave. The fire never left him. They called him Xavier, and he wore the name like a second skin.

Another child, gaunt and quiet, arrived one day with Alice after kindergarten. Though twice her height, she lead them boldly and they followed. "They’re ours now," she said to her aunts, by way of explanation, as she busied herself in the kitchen finding a snack for them both. They gave Waverly a nervous smile, and, dampened though it was in their early days there, it already lit up the room. They shone more brightly every day, a beacon in darkness, never again dimmed.

And late one night, the little boy with wild hair arrived, cats trailing along behind him. “May I have some milk for them?” he asked sweetly, appearing suddenly in the kitchen, startling Nicole at the sink. He insisted on sleeping in the barn for the first few nights, the cats sitting guard. They coaxed him into the house one evening and tucked him into bed, but he drifted back out to the cats after midnight. From then on, they left the porch light on and he came and went as he pleased. His mind never tamed and his body never truly settled, but his heart was theirs and he was home.

That was only just the first years. In the decades that followed, so many more took comfort in their arms. Nicole and Waverly were gravity. Together, a single sun, orbited by the planets, drawn to them and welcomed in without question.

Time and time again, war raged outside their door, peace a fickle dream. They fought and shed their blood and cried their tears and came home, hand in hand. 

Even in the darkest of days, their house burst with love and laughter and light, steady and structured when stability was needed, wild and whimsical and rowdy when the spirits allowed.

Their brood came and went freely once grown, always returning to them in some form. Some needed to test their bonds, but none found those bonds lacking. Always strong, always waiting for their homecoming.

They raised children who saw the world with different eyes, who saw each other, no matter how different, as kin to be cherished and cared for. 

In each moment, through each child, these women healed the world a little. Wrongs can rarely be truly righted, wars can never be erased. But in the scorched earth left behind, new growth arises, forgiveness and gratitude and understanding soothing the soil.

Years later now, their children have taken over their charge. Each in their own way, the children, now grown, claim those who are unclaimed, multiplying the care and warmth and welcome they were given and taught. 

The grandchildren are many, each a star in the sky they painted, stroke by stroke. In this second generation, not a single child questions their right to these two women, who carry them on hips, teach them to be strong and true, and sing them quiet songs of days gone by. And there is joy in that bold assumption of belonging, a healing to the loss and longing, the fear and uncertainty their parents and these women bore. 

At night, the women rest together as the house settles around them, heartbeats in quiet conversation, and they are deeply satisfied.


End file.
